Sea of War
by D. D. Webb
Summary: The Blackwater Raiders patrol Azeroth's seas, keeping them clear of pirates. Captain Ann Dawncrest and her crew are among the best, but when they are betrayed, framed and hunted by their own fleet, can they survive long enough to clear their names?
1. Preface

Only a few short years ago, an eyeblink in the span of a person's life, this was a different world, and we a very different people who lived on it.

I speak of the tumultuous years after the Third War, when Alliance and Horde were words with far less importance than they have now: scattered, disorganized coalitions, mutually suspicious but only peripherally involved with each other, and comprising between them a fraction of the world's population. Combined, a fraction of the power and importance that either wields now. That world was a bigger one, harder and more dangerous to travel across. Mages who could open portals from one end of the planet to another were few and mostly in the employ of kings; a gryphon or wyvern could only carry a person so far, for established flightpaths and trade routes were fewer and more hazardous. Most people could not claim to have seen a dragon, and would have laughed at the thought of riding on one's back.

In this world, Northrend was a lost land of ice and death. Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms might as well have been different planets, inhabited by different peoples and nearly unrecognizable chains of nature, only newly aware of each other and with the gulf between them enforced by the fury of the Maelstrom. Mechanized aircraft were but gnomish fancy, and goblin zeppelins fragile and unreliable. In this world, passage between these two lands was on the sailing ships that crawled from one end of the Great Sea to the other, and back.

And _that_ was my world.

If you are so blessed as to know of me these days, you will likely know me as the Lady Avanda, matriarch of the House of An'sadarr, a lesser family among the surviving elven nobility of Quel'thalas. If you are acquainted with maritime history during the years between the Third War and the reopening of the Dark Portal, I flatter myself that you will likely have heard of Captain Ann Dawncrest of the _Maiden's Quarrel,_ one of the most successful privateers of the Blackwater Raiders. We are one and the same woman. While I certainly enjoy the luxury of my present life, there are times when the treacherous currents of Silvermoon politics make me long for the honest storms and pirates of the open sea.

One might wonder why, after all this time, I should only now choose to tell the tales I accumulated during my tenure with the Raiders. In truth, it is a matter of ego.

In the seven years of my command, my ship destroyed ninety-three pirate vessels, of the Southsea and Bloodsail fleets, as well as various unaligned ships, in addition to a Thalassian dreadnought (not my fault; the Regency has cleared me of any charges) and a Gilnean coastal fortification (and if Greymane has anything to say to me about it I invite him to come do so), not to mention the two ships of the kaldorei armada that we disabled but allowed to sail away mostly unharmed. I did this in a single light caravel with a crew never exceeding a dozen. So when I describe myself as a genius, it is not boasting: it's mathematics. However, I have never been able to properly brag of my exploits, because only secrecy protected the tricks and stratagems that made me so successful.

But this, as I have noted, is a different world. My maneuvers have been mimicked and (I confess) improved upon by modern navies, and the then-advanced gnomish weapons and devices with which I outfitted my ship are now long obsolete. Besides, I have come ashore and my crew have moved on to safer occupations, so I have nothing left to protect. You cannot imagine the frustration it is to be phenomenally clever and unable to take credit for it. Thus, it is with great relief that I can finally tell the world of my exploits.

Certain personal details have been omitted from my account to protect my privacy and that of several other individuals. Aside from that, I attest that I have related these events faithfully, without embellishment or prevarication. Doubtless, some among my readers will choose to call me a liar. If you must, feel free to regard this as a work of fiction; I will tell it anyway.

Because, true or not, it is a damn good story.


	2. A Day of Rest

I have never been so happy to part with so much money.

The day was glorious, clear and with a light breeze nudging us across the waves from the green blur that was Stranglethorn in the east. All in all, the kind of day for which sailors pray, but on that day I had eyes for nothing but my crew and my ship. I could finally say that in every sense of the words: _my ship_.

Despite the pale lavender-blue stained wood of which she was made, to my eyes she seemed to shine in the sunlight. The _Maiden's Quarrel_ was the most distinctive vessel I've seen, even to this day. Originally a night elf caravel, hence the color of her woodwork and her low-slung build embellished with wide scrolling accents, she had been remodeled at least once in her history, and now had a sloping mast and sail rig of the style used in Quel'thalas, as well as a much sharper rebuilt prow than kaldorei vessels tend to have. Though smaller than most vessels that plied our trade, the _Quarrel_ was damn near the fastest thing that sailed the South Seas, due both to her design and to the adaptations that had been added to her over the years. She was largely a mystery to me, though I had always thought the story of how that little ship came to be had to be a grand one.

I was about to learn exactly how grand.

Today, I gazed across her decks with all the pride and pleasure of a new parent, watching the crew milling around the cask of wine I'd ordered placed just aft of the mainmast. Four years now this ship had been my home, and this motley collection of humanoids my only family. Now, finally, I found myself a much poorer woman, but a much more satisfied one.

Standing at the starboard rail of the hurricane deck, I let my fingers trail across the wood of their own accord, absently smiling down at the crew below. Gouge and Grenka were perched on one of the cannons each with a mug of wine and the opposite arm around the other's waist. They were usually more reserved in public, but the festival atmosphere was catching. Turf, Clog and Lanki had all seated themselves on the conn deck below, leaving only the tips of Turf's horns visible from where I stood. Gizmit lounged against the cask, singing "I'd Hit Sally" loudly and off-key, seemingly oblivious to the lack of audience participation. My smile widened, and I glanced down at my hand, still caressing the rail.

"You're going to wear off the finish."

Grinning, Jane Raleigh ambled over to join me at the rail, idly swirling her glass of wine in one hand. Somewhat self-consciously, I folded my hands behind my back, lifting an eyebrow.

"This deck has weathered storms and entirely too much cannonfire. I doubt my well-manicured hands will make a lasting mark."

"Aye." She lounged against the rail, smirking. "But the storms and the cannons weren't taking to the finish like a lovestruck minstrel to his lady fair. This ship is a weird enough color without you making her blush, Ann."

I pursed my lips irritably. As first mate, as well as my closest friend aboard, Jane had certain prerogatives when it came to how she spoke to me, provided she didn't do it in front of the rest of the crew.

"So," she added more formally, "I gather your negotiations with the Baron went well, Captain Dawncrest?"

"Shh! It's going to be a surprise. I'm making a grand announcement and everything."

"Yeah, it's real mysterious. Because you let us drink on deck _all_ the time, and it's not like everyone knew you've been planning to buy the _Quarrel _ever since you made Captain..."

"Damn it, wench, must you _always _steal my thunder?"

"Someone has to keep your boots on the deck." Grinning, she raised a hand defensively. "All right, all right, I'll shut up. Everyone deserves her moment. It's been long-awaited." The expression faded back to a smirk, and she turned to direct it out to sea.

I glanced back down at my relaxing crew, then frowned, taking a quick headcount. A visual search of the deck brought no results. "Where's the Professor?"

"Here, Captain!"

Raleigh started violently, swearing as she sloshed wine across her trousers. Right beside us, a balding gnome with a tremendous green handlebar mustache appeared over the rail as if by magic. On second look, I realized he had rigged himself a harness and was secured by lines to the rail itself not far from my feet.

"Professor Dimmerswitch." I tilted my head, examining him. "Dare I ask?"

"Just a little necessary maintenance, Captain," he said cheerfully. "Don't mind me, I'll be done here posthaste. Got a good head start as we were sailing out of the Cove."

"The one day you have a chance to relax on deck and you're working?" I shook my head. "I admire your ethic, but this is a celebration. Unless we're sinking, pack that away and have some wine."

"Can't do it, Captain!" He shook his head, frowning. "Someone's been playing hell with my equipment. It's taken me all morning to get the rapid rigging system worked out; every single one of the sparcaps was sprung, and she had no less than three bent springs and a cracked gear. And NOW I find that the thrusters are every last one of 'em clogged with seaweed."

"Those are emergency devices, Professor. We're hardly going to be chasing pirates barely out of sight of Booty Bay." I frowned, the import of his words suddenly registering. "How did all that happen, anyway? When we put in last night you said everything was shipshape."

"Everything _was!"_ He gesticulated wildly with his spanner, causing himself to bob about in his harness. "I looked it all over myself before going ashore. This happened overnight, and none of it accidental. This much equipment does not spontaneously break at once. Not to mention that seaweed doesn't jam itself into six intake vents without so much as tangling in the rudder."

Raleigh scowled. "Sounds to me like someone's professional jealousy got the better of them."

"My thoughts exactly," I nodded to her. The _Maiden's Quarrel _was one of the more successful ships in the fleet, a fact which some of the more senior captains did not appreciate. Still, sabotaging another vessel under Blackwater colors was a serious affair. "I'll speak to Baron Revilgaz about keeping order in his port and among his personnel. And to Clog about keeping awake on watch, it seems. But, not at this moment. Pack up and come back aboard, please, I'm about to give a speech."

The Professor groaned dramatically. "Can't I just finish up here, Captain? I've just got two units left to de-clog."

"Now, Dimmerswitch."

"Aye, Captain," he sighed, tucking away his spanner and tugging himself over the rail.

"ON DECK!" I shouted, striding to the steps that led down to the conn. The three men positioned there immediately rose to their feet, Clog a trifle unsteadily. Lanki got up only so far as tucking his feet under himself before settling back into that habitual crouch that trolls tend to assume when not actually doing anything. On the main deck below, Gizmit broke off her singing, and the McCullerses hopped down from their perch, giving me their full attention.

I stood silently beside the wheel while everyone assembled on the deck below. Only Lanki and Raleigh remained on the conn with me, she lounging against the rail off to the side as was her habit. Simply for dramatic effect, I held quiet a moment longer before clearing my throat.

"My friends, I hope you enjoyed the wine, and am sure you've been curious as to the occasion. As you all well know, the _Maiden's Quarrel_ has sailed under the flag of the Blackwater Raiders as far back as anyone knows of her, which admittedly is only a short span of years. She was purchased from a high elf shipbuilder by Baron Revilgaz himself, and has consistently acquitted herself well. That, I deem, is due mostly to the excellence of her crew."

I had to pause here for the chorus of cheers, which I'd been expecting. Raleigh rolled her eyes, but smiled as she did so.

The noise abated as I held up a hand for silence. "It's my great pleasure to report that as of last night and the discussion that passed between the Baron and myself, as well as the quantity of gold which subsequently changed hands, I am the sole owner of this ship."

This round of cheers was louder, and more gratifying as I hadn't been as sure of it. The crew thought well of me—obviously, as my position was an elected one—but sailors are a conservative folk by nature and leery of sudden changes in their circumstances. I waited till the cheers died off before continuing.

"I want to assure you all that nothing has changed as regards our duties. We remain part of the Blackwater fleet. Indeed, a clause of my contract with Revilgaz was an additional three years mandated under his colors, and honestly I've no plans to leave even after that point. This is what we all signed on for, and we are damn good at it."

"Laying it on a mite thick, aren't we," Raleigh muttered under cover of more cheering, but she continued to smile at me with good humor. I tipped her a wink.

"There will be one change, however!" Silence fell. Under its weight, I smiled down at my crew. "Terms of service in the Blackwater Raiders are different for a private vessel than one owned by the Baron. The main difference, and the main cause of his reluctance to sell me the ship, deals with the distribution of spoils: namely, that we now owe less of what we take to the Raiders." I had half expected to be interrupted again at this point, but the crew held quiet, expectant. I panned my gaze across their upturned faces for a moment, then turned and slowly paced across the deck for a few steps.

"It's no secret to most of you that I've been saving up for this since the day I took command. The _Quarrel_ has been my goal all along...and with that achieved, my need for riches is much less urgent. I am fully cognizant that I've been blessed by the Light in the form of this crew; we'd not have done nearly as well as we have with just about any other collection of people."

"Fully what?" Gizmit piped up.

"Means she knows it," Turf rumbled. "Hush."

"With those things in mind," I continued, "I wish to announce that going forward, I shall contentedly hold my share of our earnings the same as it was under our previous arrangement. The surplus, all of it, will be divided among you."

I barely made it to the end of my sentence before being drowned out by the outcry. Gouge actually flung his hat into the air; Grenka immediately cuffed his exposed head, but she did it while grinning affectionately. This time, shouts of "Captain Dawncrest!" featured in the chorus of cheers. I let this continue for a minute or so, partly to let them work it out of their systems and partly—well, why not admit it?—out of my own love of adulation.

"Right," I called, holding up my hands again for quiet. "You've listened to enough of my yammering. It's a gorgeous day and that cask isn't going to drink itself. As you were."

I strolled up the curving stairs to the uppermost deck, savoring the ecstatic hubbub behind me. The _Quarrel's _kaldorei design positioned a raised poop deck, reached by sinuous stairs starboard and port, behind the conn deck on which the wheel stood, which itself was raised above the main deck. Originally this hurricane deck ("poop deck" was more technically correct but we'd all grown tired of Gizmit's sniggering) was empty and I assume had served some ceremonial purpose, but we had added weapon emplacements, as well as Professor Dimmerswitch's ingenious track-and-rail system which allowed them to be moved from one side to the other without coming loose from the deck.

"Masterfully handled, as always," Raleigh said, strolling up behind me. I nodded to her.

"Well, one does what one can."

"Pshaw!" Grinning, she waved away my reply. "Modesty doesn't suit you, Ann."

"No, it really doesn't, does it?"

With an answering grin, I leaned back against the rail beside her, allowing my gaze to wander. Across the ship, through the rigging (Gizmit had climbed up there with a tankard, somehow; the little goblin had always been as deft in the ropes as a monkey, though, so I made no comment), and across the open horizon.

"So what's next, then?"

"Next?" Glancing over at her, I shrugged. "I mean to let the crew have a day to relax, then back to business as usual. The Bloodsail Buccaneers can always do with a vigorous roughing up. We might even cross back to Ratchet and try the hunting among the Southsea band. As long as we stay south of Durotar, the night elves shouldn't bother us." Night elves had a tendency to chase the _Quarrel,_ no doubt curious what one of their ships was doing heavily modified and under the Blackwater flag. My attempts to warn them off had backfired rather badly.

"Oh, don't give me that." Her tone made me look up in surprise; the humor was gone from her freckled face, replaced by an analytical expression. "I know you better, Ann. You'd sooner be caught on deck without your pants than without a plan. Always scheming something. So, you've just achieved your major goal in life. What's next?"

She held my gaze for a long moment. Jane was fairly attractive, for a human; the freckles were a bit off-putting, but she had hair an almost elven shade of red, which I'm told her race prides. She tended more toward "cute" than "pretty," though her smirking and sly manner of speech often spoiled the effect. I finally sighed, breaking from her eyes to stare at the distance.

"All right, fine. I see I'm not allowed to surprise anyone on this ship."

"Damn straight. Spill."

"Well..." Casually, I held up one hand and inspected my fingernails. They were, of course, flawless. "I intend, the next time we find a likely prospect, to take a ship."

"What? Actually _take _one?" She stood up straight, eyebrows climbing in surprise. "No more sinking and looting the wreckage? I mean, I know I wasn't so keen on your strategies at first, but they've made us wealthy and kept us safe. Taking a ship means boarding and going toe-to-toe with pirates...the _Quarrel _isn't built for that, and we frankly don't have the manpower."

"Yes, I am actually aware of all this," I said dryly. "I've been toying with ideas, and I have several workable strategies to compensate for our shortcomings."

"Heh." She sank back against the rail and eyed her empty glass. "Between your twisty tactics and the Professor's gadgets, I don't doubt you could pull it off. But _why,_ Captain? The way we do things now works perfectly well. Are you planning to build your own fleet, is that it?"

"Not unless that's what you want," I replied, studying my other hand now. "I mean, you'd be welcome to sail under my colors, Jane, but I should think you'd also relish the chance to strike out on your own. The second ship's for you."

There was a tiny _crash_ as her glass shattered on the deck. I eyed the mess disapprovingly before looking up to her face, and then had to blink in surprise. Raleigh had gone pale, making her freckles stand out sharply, and her eyes nearly bulged.

"Oh, come now, Jane, I think that's a bit more surprise than the announcement warrants. Much as I'd hate to lose you, don't think I'm unaware that you deserve it. You're a fine officer and one of the best sailors it's ever been my privilege to know. And you have seniority. You've been first mate on this ship longer than I've even been aboard, and though I appreciate you never making a point of it, my being made Captain must have been a disappointment. You're past due your own command, and it's the least I can do to help you get it."

She blinked at me, mouth still open. A flush suffused her rounded cheeks now in place of the pallor, but she still didn't seem up to speaking, so I carried on. "I waited till now for exactly that reason. While the _Maiden's Quarrel_ was a ship of the fleet, any captured vessel belonged to the Baron. But now that I'm an independent contractor, whatever I take is mine to dispose how I please, and it pleases me to help a friend's career along. With our record, you should have no trouble assembling a crew in Booty Bay, and I'm sure Revilgaz will approve you for a command under his flag. I'm not the only captain who'd speak up for you if he didn't. So keep an eye out as we're raiding, and if you see a vessel you like the cut of, let me know."

I grinned at her. Jane shook her head slowly, as if coming out of a dream, but managed a smile back at me. "I... Captain—Ann, if I'd known...I mean, you could have mentioned this."

Shrugging off the hint of reproach, I clapped her on the back "Well, you know how much I like my dramatic moments."

"Aye, and you never let anyone know what's going on between those pointed ears for fear they'll find a way to head you off." She shook her head again, but squeezed my shoulder companionably. "That suspicious nature will be the death of you."

"Something has to," I replied lazily. "But this is our day; we can maunder about death some other time. Let's get you a new glass."

"Hey, Captain," Gizmit called from above, "ships ahoy."

I shaded my eyes, peering up at the goblin lookout. She had lost her drink and was staring aft. "We're two hours out from Blackwater Cove," I shouted back. "Ships are everywhere. Why are these significant?"

"Because they're following us!"

At that I straightened; below, several other crewmen set down glasses and looked up to follow the conversation. Lanki, the Gurubashi witchdoctor who served as our cook and surgeon, appeared on the upper deck, his strings of beads and trinkets rattling with his movements as always. As he ambled over to join us, frowning, Raleigh and I turned to gaze back toward the coast. Just as Gizmit had said, I could clearly see three ships in the distance, apparently aimed right for us.

"I wasn't sure at first," the goblin went on, "but they haven't changed course since they appeared, and they're too close now not to have seen us."

I couldn't make out details as yet; I couldn't even see the sails on one, but the other two were unmistakably moving our way. "Can you make out their colors?" Gizmit has freakishly keen eyesight, even without using a scope.

"Blackwater!" She grinned down at me. "I can do you one better, Cap. It's Silvergrin's ships, all three of 'em."

To my right, Lanki let out a deep snort, then closed his fist around a particular piece of mojo hanging from his neck and began to mumble. I tapped one forefinger against my lips in thought, while Raleigh narrowed her eyes at the pursuers. Commodore Skeevil Silvergrin was a goblin with a more unsavory reputation than most, but he got results. Unlike the majority who controlled multiple vessels, he had never broken up his fleet to increase his odds in hunting pirates and the Steamwheedle Cartel's rivals, but had leveraged the combined might of the _Death and Taxes, _the _Dragonhawk _and the _Citadel _to do Baron Revilgaz's most dangerous work, taking on entire pirate fleets and assaulting their bases. He wasn't well liked, and had personally insulted both myself and Raleigh, as well as Eshani, the former captain of the _Maiden's Quarrel._

"Wonder what he wants," Raleigh muttered.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with us. Mr. Turf!"

"Aye, Captain?" Turf's mighty head and shoulders appeared at the stairs, his black fur and horns glistening in the sun. Our helmsman, he was large and well-muscled even for a tauren.

"Take the wheel and nudge us gently to the south; I want to get out of the heading of those three ships. Silvergrin's been known to brush his armada entirely too close to other vessels. Compensating for something, I expect."

A flash of white teeth showed briefly in his face as Turf grinned. "Aye, Captain. South it is." He vanished back below the deck, and in moments the _Quarrel _eased to port.

"Should we put on more sail, Captain?" Frasier "Gouge" McCullers called from the main deck below. I raised my voice to answer.

"No, hold speed. Gizmit, let me know what they're doing when they get a bit closer."

"Will do, skipper!"

"Professor!"

"Yes, Captain? I mean, aye?" Dimmerswitch bounded up from the conn, where he'd been sitting at the mechanical console.

"What's the status of your repairs?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, Captain, no progress since we last spoke...I mean, you told me to stop and get a drink..."

"That's fine, I know I did." I smiled reassuringly at him. "Just want to be up to speed on the status of my ship."

"Aye, Captain," he said with obvious relief. "I got the auto-rig back in working condition, just a matter of switching out a few busted pieces. Straightened out four of the thruster vents, too; first two port and aft. I've still to fix the last two on each side."

"Understood." I nodded. "No rush, just keep me posted."

"Aye. You worried about having to get out of Silvergrin's way?"

I grimaced. "Better safe than sorry."

There is an art to having a gnomish inventor as a ship's engineer. One must give them the necessary validation and take full advantage of their skills, while also applying a constant brake to their enthusiasm. Fitzwilliam Dimmerswitch was Professor Emeritus of Applied Engineering at Gnomeregan University, so he claimed, and was undoubtedly brilliant, but I had to spend a great deal of time dissuading him from attempting things that would get us blown up or sunk. Still, those of his insights that had worked had made the _Quarrel_ unlike anything else on the sea. Her weapons were entirely unique, and the two devices we were now discussing, the auto-rigging and thrusters, had made her faster and more nimble than any vessel I'd ever seen. The former enabled a limited amount of control over the sails and lines from his console; sailors working in the rigging still gave more thorough and precise results, but we could completely reef or furl sails in seconds, if necessary. As for the latter...well, I couldn't deny the thrusters' effectiveness, but I fervently hoped never to use them again.

These things were of immediate interest to me because Silvergrin had a reputation for, among other things, playing chicken against other ships which wandered too close to his fleet. To my knowledge he'd never actually rammed anybody, but I had spoken with other captains who'd complained about him swamping their decks in his wake. The course adjustment I had ordered should take us out of range of that, but one should never underestimate the madness or malice of a goblin.

Below, the enthusiasm of the celebration appeared to have faded. Gouge and Grenka, with the kind of unspoken agreement they tended to have, had begun cleaning up mugs and glasses, and stoppered the cask. Turf stood at the wheel, Gizmit keeping watch aloft, and Lanki was engaged in the rhythmic muttering I recognized as communing with the spirits. Or the loa. Whatever it was he did; I have managed to learn nothing about voodoo during my years at sea, and I'm perfectly content with that. Clog was still working on a mug of wine—separating a dwarf from a drink is no easy task—but he, too, was quiet now.

"They're changing course, Captain," Gizmit called. "Still coming right for us."

A tense silence fell where there had been cheering only minutes before.

"All right, then." I pitched my voice loud enough to carry across the deck without raising it beyond simple speech. "Doubtless Silvergrin has heard of my business with the Baron last night and intends to offer his conratulations. And by 'congratulations,' in his case, I mean 'insults.' All hands, stand by to be the bigger man. Nobody strain yourself."

Chuckles went up and I felt some of the stress leave the atmosphere. That was dashed to hell in moments when Lanki broke off his chanting and turned to me.

"Captain, de spirits whisper warnings t'me. Dem ships bringin' us trouble."

I hesitated. I am not an empathetic person; I believe "female intuition" is a concept invented by women who couldn't be bothered to read. Facts and logic are what I trust, and here I was presented with a stark dilemma. Vague and confusing as Lanki's warnings often were, they had _never _been wrong, and in fact had saved all our lives more than once. That I didn't understand the process didn't make it invalid, any more than it made the Professor's inventions ineffective. However, these were Blackwater ships. Silvergrin might be a mean, conniving bastard, but he was still a commodore of our fleet. That other Blackwater Raiders should threaten us was simply unthinkable.

Dead silence had fallen now. The crew watched me, several with ropes in their hands, awaiting orders. Raleigh clutched the rail in a white-knuckled grip. I turned to Lanki.

"Running trouble, or fighting trouble, you think?"

He scowled. "Wat I look like, da Gadgetzan Times? _Trouble_, Captain."

"All right..." Better to be prepared for the unthinkable than to be felled by the impossible. I raised my voice and barked, "All hands, lifelines! Grenka, open the weapons locker and make ready, but don't aim unless I order. Turf, Gizmit, Professor, stations."

A bustle of efficient activity erupted. Gouge and Clog began unwinding lifelines from their fastenings around the mainmast; once they'd secured themselves Gouge tossed one upward to Gizmit and the pair began bringing lines to each member of the crew. Grenka vanished into the forecastle where the weapons were stored, preparing the rifles as ordered. Professor Dimmerswitch rushed to man his mechanical console on the conn; Turf and Gizmit were already at their posts, the order serving only to notify them to remain there until further notice. In moments, Angus "Clog" McAree stumped up onto the hurricane deck, three lines clutched in his iron-gray fists; after handing these over with a salute, he headed back to the main deck, and Lanki, Raleigh and I fastened the ropes about our waists.

Behind us, the three ships grew steadily larger as they approached, swinging slightly north of our heading before they compensated for our changed course. Raleigh descended to the main deck to supervise preparations, though Lanki remained beside me, glaring at our pursuers and muttering again. I adopted a casual pose against the starboard rail, facing opposite, just in case someone from the chasing fleet had a spyglass aimed at me. Never let your opponent see you anything but calm and in control.

With that piece of my father's advice in mind, I have always taken pains to look my best at all times. Other sailors laugh at such things, but I consider it to be one of the secrets of my success. On this day I was no less put together than usual, my shirt and trousers clean and well-cut, boots freshly shined. I would be a recognizable figure to anyone perusing our decks: the well-fitting, knee-length coat of royal blue and my feathered hat were both personal trademarks. Confidence is everything: when in doubt, strike a pose.

"Lifelines secure, Captain!"

"Rifles ready, Captain. At your command."

"Good and good, well done, all."

I glanced up, examining the rigging. Gizmit was perched at the tip of our mainmast, which extended backward at an angle and placed her nearly over my head. We were running at about a third of our sail capacity.

"Professor!"

"Captain?"

"When you repaired the auto-rig, did you get all the sails attached properly?"

"Aye, Captain, McCullers helped me. You've got all sails, or none, at a word."

"Splendidly done, Professor. Everyone stand ready. Hopefully this fool will say his piece and be off."

Tension hung over us like a fog, shrouding the ship and obscuring the sea around us. No one really believed that. Lanki was never wrong about danger. On the other hand, no one really believed that Silvergrin could seriously mean us harm, either; the Blackwater Raiders stood by their own, always. Being caught between two certainties was in some ways worse than facing down an unequivocal danger. We had no idea what to expect.

Silent minutes passed as the three ships gained. The _Quarrel _could outrun any of them, should we so choose, especially with the prevailing wind favoring us. However, with our sails lax as they were, the flotilla had no trouble catching up. I refused to attempt to run, warnings or no; it would be undignified at the very least, and possibly would raise ugly questions concerning what we had to hide. I held my unconcerned pose, and in fact turned to present my back to them as they approached. There was little to be gained in study; I knew these ships. Anything further I needed to know, Gizmit would tell me.

Commodore Silvergrin's flagship, the _Death and Taxes,_ was one of the ubiquitous Tirasian designed frigates that seem to be the backbone of every human navy, if a particularly fine specimen. There were, as far as general knowledge went, no special or unique modifications done to her, which I distrusted. Such a thing would be unthinkable for a ship with a wealthy goblin commander. More likely, Silvergrin guarded his element of surprise carefully, which I respected; I protected the upgrades to the _Maiden's Quarrel _with similar zeal. The _Dragonhawk_ represented his armada's speed and agility. She hadn't nearly as much firepower, but could outmaneuver and outrun most ships that sailed the South Seas. Most. Not mine. The sight of her always brought a sneer to my lips; just once, I would like to see Silvergrin and his crews meet a dragonhawk, just for the pleasure of watching them soil themselves. The real power in his fleet, though, was the _Citadel_, the only steamship in the Blackwater Raiders. Lacking sails, she was slow and cumbersome, but well named. The _Citadel's _hull was metal-plated, and her armament was colossal. She was, in a very real sense, a floating castle, able to take more punishment than most sailing vessels could deliver, and respond in kind.

"Captain," Gizmit called, "The _Death and Taxes _is signaling she wants to pull alongside and talk. Looks like the other two are falling back to let her."

"Any sign who's on deck?"

"Can't tell from this far. Their decks are a lot higher up than ours."

"Very well. Acknowledge and accept. Turf, hold her steady." I carefully adjusted my hat as Gizmit dived to the deck to retrieve the signal flags. "Grenka, stand ready. Raleigh, Gouge and Clog, be near the forecastle and ready to arm if something happens."

There came a chorus of "aye's." I finally turned to regard the looming figure of the _Death and Taxes_ as she came up alongside us to starboard. Nearby, Lanki had broken off his mumbling and now stared flatly at the ship, fingering his beads. Catching my look, he nodded once, and I repressed a sigh. Trouble was still on. His spirits had better know what they were talking about.

This close, I could see the diminutive figure of the Commodore himself perched upon the port rail his main deck. It was hard to make out details, but I could see the glistening of the metal-capped teeth from which he derived his name. For them to reflect that much sun, he must be grinning very widely indeed. I gritted my own, trying to tell myself that the cold tingling at the base of my spine was just a response to the crew's tension. I am not an intuitive individual; I do not _get _cold tingles.

Since that day,of course, I've learned to recognize that tingle, and respect it.


	3. Fight or Flight

"Captain Dawncrest," the goblin called across the gap. "I understand congratulations are in order!"

It was a calm day, the breeze light and without noticeable waves. This close, I had no trouble hearing his raised voice, nor he mine.

"Indeed, and I thank you for your well wishes, Commodore. What can I do for you?"

"What can you do for me?" The little man stroked his chin in a grand parody of thoughtfulness. There was something entirely too smug in his bearing; the chill in my spine intensified. He was extravagantly dressed in a silken coat crossed by a wide, purple sash, with an enormous hat which he doubtless thought made him look taller. Perhaps the threat was just in his typical goblin pretentiousness...and the unnerving glint of sunlight off his jagged, metal teeth. "Well, I don't think that's quite appropriate. After all, it's not my colors you sail under. Everyone knows that Captain Ann Dawncrest answers only to the Blackwater Raiders. Oh, excuse me. Should I address you as the Lady Avanda An'sadarr?"

_Don't tell them who you are._

He could only have made a bigger impression by shooting me. I don't know how much of my shock showed on my face, nor how much he could see; the sun was behind me. Barely, I managed not to stagger where I stood. There was no way he could have known me by that name.

I was dimly aware of a faint murmur from the crew below. Lanki gave me a sidelong look, but his expression did not change. Silvergrin...oh, yes. He was smug.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself," I managed, "so let me be blunt. Silvergrin, _what do you want?"_

"Now _there's_ the question!" His grin, if anything, broadened. "I want cohesion and integrity within the Blackwater Raiders. You, Avanda, are a danger to that. And I think you know why."

My feeling of unease deepened. I had no idea what he was hinting at; I had no idea how he had learned of my origins. I survived and succeeded by knowing what others didn't and making use of my knowledge; being at the other end of that equation left me terrifyingly vulnerable.

Beside me, Gizmit dropped gracefully to the deck, hanging from the spars by her lifeline. "He's got men with rifles on deck, well back from the rail," she murmured. "And have a look to port, Captain." With that she skittered off, shimmying back up the mast. I glanced aside as she'd indicated, and my unease blossomed into full-blown fear.

While the _Death and Taxes _held along our starboard, considerably outsizing the _Quarrel,_the _Citadel _had positioned herself aft and to port of us. That was not so very odd, except that the _Dragonhawk,_ the fastest ship in Silvergrin's armada, was circling around wide to our port, obviously angling to get in front of us. Armed men on deck, and positioning his fleet to box us in. There was only one explanation: the Commodore intended to attack and seize the _Maiden's Quarrel._ I couldn't make any other sense of his maneuvers. And yet, it was still unthinkable. He was a Blackwater officer! Everything else on the Great Sea might be utterly chaotic, either hostile or just unpredictable, but we could always count on ships of the fleet to stand by us. The Raiders take care of their own. Had he gone utterly mad?

"Very well, my Lady," the infernal goblin called, "we'll dispense with the pleasantries. I know what you did. You've attempted to cheat the Raiders out of what rightfully belongs to the fleet. There's a word for that, elf: it starts with an M and rhymes with _scrutiny._"

My rapier was in my hand before I realized I'd drawn it. "You are one careless word from saying something I'll feel the need to take exception to, runt."

"Oh, by all means, take exception." His grin only widened.

I spared a glance to port. The _Dragonhawk _had pulled ahead of us; she hadn't begun to circle about yet, but that would happen any moment. If I was to act, I had seconds in which to do so. Even the _Quarrel _was not agile enough to escape if he pinned us between his three ships; they were all taller, and would give his crew a perfect field of fire on us. As if summoned by the thought, I beheld grim-faced sailors with rifles approaching the port rail of the _Death and Taxes._ I took a deep breath.

"SAILS!" I roared. Distantly there came the crack of gunfire, but Dimmerswitch threw a lever on his console, springs and pulleys whirred into action, and the _Quarrel's _sails unfurled to their full extent. The ship lurched ahead, her motion smoothing out almost instantly. Dire as the situation was, I felt the thrill I always did at the _Quarrel's_ speed.

But it wasn't enough. Guns cracked again behind us; a bullet hole appeared in the rail beside me. From the forecastle came a responding salvo; Grenka and Raleigh had taken up arms and knelt behind one of the cannons, guns trained on the _Death and Taxes._ I hoped one of them managed to peg Silvergrin, but doubtless the little weasel had scuttled belowdecks the moment guns came out. Worst of all, the _Dragonhawk _had too great a lead. Eyeing her heading and the rapidly shrinking distance between us, I could see she was going to get into place before the _Quarrel _could get out of the trap. Her captain could see it too.

Ramming them was out of the question. She was three times our size; the impact would probably hole the _Dragonhawk's _hull beyond repair, but it would utterly obliterate the _Maiden's Quarrel._ I just barely had time to order sails down, put out the sweeps to slow us, and avert a collision; the other ship wasn't changing her heading, her captain doubtless confident that we would stand down. It would be death, of course. Silvergrin clearly intended none of us to survive his ambush. Holding course would only be another way to die... Those of the crew not involved in the rigging were looking at me for orders. They could see the situation as clearly as I. Something tugged at my hat in time with a rifle retort from behind.

Unless...

"Dimmerswitch!" I shouted. "Thrusters!"

Grimaces showed on every face; beside me, Lanki muttered, "Aw, no. Anyt'in' but dat..." The Professor, with a manic grin, lunged for the controls on his engineering console. I drew breath to be heard over the noise.

"All hands! BRACE FOR GNOMISH LUNACY!"

With an ungodly roar, fans of water sprayed from the _Quarrel's _sides, and the ship careened madly forward. Our sails fell slack as we outpaced the wind itself; below me, Turf snarled in furious concentration, wrestling with the wheel as the ship tried to veer off course from the forces she rode. The speed was tremendous, though. We screamed into the gap, the _Dragonhawk _closing rapidly, but no longer rapidly enough. Fifty yards, fifteen, three... One of our spars clipped her carved figurehead, sending an agonizing shudder through the _Quarrel's _rigging. And then we were past them.

The impact caused us to lurch to starboard; Turf bellowed in wordless protest, straining against the wheel. The _Quarrel _shook, swayed, righted herself, continued on.

"Oi!" yelled Clog. "Keep the ship in the water!"

Behind us, rifles furiously protested our escape. The crew were either hunched and clinging to something or had fallen flat on the deck with the onslaught of speed, already presenting low targets by accident. I could feel the ship shaking in protest. It was for good reason we never used the damn thrusters; the vibrations they caused were enough to rattle the teeth out of our heads, and were even harder on the _Quarrel._ Glancing behind, I beheld our pursuers scrambling awkwardly into formation even as they fell rapidly behind. I gritted my teeth. We needed speed, and as much distance between us and Silvergrin's fleet as could be managed. But my ship was in pain; I could feel it like my own. She couldn't handle this kind of abuse much longer.

"A few seconds more, my lovely," I whispered. It was soundless in the cacophony.

With a shriek, Gizmit lost her grip on the spar; she'd been clinging to the one which struck the _Dragonhawk._ It was only lucky she hadn't been catapulted overboard. I sidestepped as her green form whizzed past me, grabbing her lifeline in both hands and snarling at the resulting rope burns, but the goblin's flight was arrested and she dropped to the deck. Looking back, I was amazed at our progress. The three ships were almost to the horizon.

"Shut it off, Professor. SHUT IT OFF!"

The roaring of the thrusters fell to a low whine, then tapered into nothing. In the immediate aftermath, the normal sounds of wind, waves and the ship's own soft voice seemed like the silence of the grave. I didn't give it more than a moment.

"Grenka, Gouge, head below and assess the damage. Do what you need to to keep us afloat, but I want a report ASAP."

"Aye, ma'am!"

"Gizmit, get back aloft and have a look at that spar. I need us at full sails."

"On it, boss lady."

"Turf, hold course until the bastards are out of sight behind us, then veer five degrees north. Get us out of the shipping lanes."

"Aye, Captain. North of the lanes will put us in the southern edge of the Maelstrom's backlash. It's not too bad to sail through, but if the ship is damaged we'll have a hard time of it."

"I'm aware of that, but I'll take the Storm Belt over Silvergrin."

Gouge appeared from below. "It's not as bad as it could be, Captain. We're taking on water in a dozen places, all near the thruster mounts, but the flow is already slowing. We secured everything not waterproof and Grenka's applying caulk. The _Quarrel _should straighten herself out in a few more minutes."

"Excellent." Before the modifications I'd had Professor Dimmerswitch add, even before the ship had been rebuilt with quel'dorei features, the _Maiden's Quarrel_ had held our most closely guarded advantage: given time, the ship would gradually heal herself from most damage, just like wounded flesh knitting together. We assumed it was due to her night elf heritage. Who knew what a society of druids could do with woodwork? "Anyone not otherwise busy, get to work bailing. Speed is of the essence and we can't afford the weight."

"Not necessary, Captain!" the Professor cried. "Give me five minutes with the air pump we use for the diving suits and I can reverse the flow; it should be able to handle water anyway. We can siphon the water straight out to sea."

"Very good, Professor, proceed."

"We're golden up here, Captain!" Gizmit called. "Threw her about some, but the spar's not cracked and the fastenings seem fine. You've got all the sails you need, never fear."

"Finally some good news," I murmured, acknowledging her with a wave. I fought the urge to sag against the rail. My whole world had been spun into chaos, but I'd lived through that before. Just needed a moment to get my feet under me...

Yowling, the ship's cat emerged from a coil of rope that had been disarrayed during our mad flight. Uther the Ratbringer was a huge, grizzled tabby with a ragged ear and half his tail missing. Bounding onto the rail beside me, he glared and gave me his best hiss.

"Well, you should have stayed below, then," I muttered. "Or better yet, gotten off at the Bay. I've a feeling the ride is only going to get rougher from here." Growling, he jumped down and began washing himself. I hated that cat.

Professor Dimmerswitch emerged from the hatch bearing a hose which was already spewing seawater. He hurled the business end over the side and set about lashing it to the rail with twine taken from one of his innumerable pockets.

"Got it as stable as we can below, Captain," Grenka called, coming up on his heels. Her tusked face was set in a severe expression. "The _Quarrel _didn't like that one bit, but she's already settling herself. I added caulk for good measure where it seemed necessary; no active leaks anymore. We're light on cargo, so nothing important got damaged."

"Good, well done." I made a mental note to check later and see what was damaged that she considered unimportant. The fatigue was settling on me like a shroud. I'd been having such a good day... And with it came an upsurge in the constant hunger that gnawed at my mind. Light, not right now...I had more than I could deal with already.

"Okay, we're not sinking or under fire," Raleigh said, striding up the ladder to join us on the conn deck. Her face was a mask of fury. "Now, Captain, how's about you explain just what the _hell_ you've gotten us into?"

"How about what I just got us _out _of?" I snapped. "Or would you rather go back and throw yourself on Silvergrin's mercy?"

"Why is he after us in the first place? Light in heaven, he _fired _on us! A ship of our own fleet! Damn it, Ann, what did you _do!"_

"I did nothing! I have no idea what—"

"We all heard 'im talk," Clog chimed in. "Goin' on about summat ye stole. What's that about, Cap'n?"

"I just said I don't know what he was talking about!"

"That's easy for—"

With a deep snort, Turf slammed one immense hoof into the deck. He was careful not to damage the planks, but I swear the ship tilted.

Turf Grimtotem speaks softly, treads carefully and is fond of books. It's easy to become used to his presence and forget that he is eight feet of horned muscle who can pick up a cannon in one hand and throw it.

Still holding to the wheel, he spoke in a growl that rumbled across the deck. "Skeevil Silvergrin is a known liar and cheat. Captain Dawncrest has never been anything but an upstanding member of this crew, and since she took command we've all grown markedly richer and not lost a single hand in battle. You will all remember to _whom _you owe the benefit of the doubt!"

"Thank you, Turf," I murmured, reaching up to pat his huge arm. He nodded to me in return, and I turned to face the crew. "I well understand everyone's fear and uncertainty; believe me, I feel the same. But turning against each other is not going to help anything. Now, to answer your questions, Silvergrin's accusation was a lie. I have never stolen anything from the Raiders. I can only assume he invented it as a pretext to attack us."

"I get that part," Gouge said. His Tirasian accent, as usual when he was worked up, had thickened markedly. "But what was all that he was calling you? If he just wants an excuse to turn on us, what's it matter if he thinks you're Lady An'sadarr?"

"Lady Avanda," I corrected automatically, then winced. I was tired, completely off-balance and the hunger was growing very distracting. Such a slip was totally out of character for me. It was just my luck, I thought sourly, to be on a ship with the one human who could hear an elven name once and not only remember it, but pronounce it correctly.

"Beg your pardon?" Jane said softly. I sighed.

"Only the head of House is known by rank and surname." I could hear the weariness in my own voice. "All other members are called by rank and given name. My father was the Lord An'sadarr." Light. Four years of hiding my history, and here I was lecturing the crew on Thalassian protocol. When had this day spun so completely out of my control?

"So it is true," Jane said in the same quiet tone.

"That much, yes. How Silvergrin learned of it I can't begin to imagine, but the only reason I can see for him to bring it up would be to put me off-balance."

"So that's true, but the rest isn't?" Raleigh kept her voice neutral enough not to make it an accusation. Still, the last threads of my patience frayed further.

"Have I ever _once _asked _any _of you what you're doing at sea, away from your homes and lands?" The crew looked shamefaced and shuffled back, as well they might.

Lanki was a Gurubashi troll; his people were at war with the Steamwheedle Cartel, which made his presence on a Blackwater ship more than odd. Turf and Clog hailed from the Grimtotem tauren and Dark Iron dwarves, respectively, both factions that were universally hostile to outsiders. We had known Gouge and Grenka were sharing a bunk when they came aboard, but it had been several months before it came out they were actually married. That explained their presence, anyway; there was no human nation or orcish clan anywhere that would tolerate them as a pair. People came to the Raiders for a variety of reasons, but often as not, it was to seek a neutral home away from wherever they were from, and the secure knowledge that no one would question their history so long as they did their part.

"She's right," Raleigh said suddenly. "And Turf's right. The rest of us, yours truly included, should be ashamed of ourselves." Grimacing, she nodded to me in apology, to which I nodded in return. Murmurs of agreement sounded from the rest of the crew.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "We've just been attacked by our own fleet. It's natural to be questioning one's loyalties, but I reiterate: right now, the nine of us and this ship are all we have to rely on. I swear to you I have never acted against the interests of this crew or the Raiders, nor am I ever going to. And I have faith that all of you will do the same."

"Thanks, Captain," Grenka replied. "But this leaves us needing to figure out what the hell to do now."

"Yes." Nodding, I began to pace the deck behind Turf. The motion helped me concentrate, and stave off the gnawing sensation in the back of my mind. If I didn't deal with that soon, my composure was going to start suffering... "All right, the first question is why Silvergrin would try to sink us."

"He wasn't tryin' to sink us," Gizmit remarked from her perch above. "He had his crew loading his cannons with grapeshot. He wanted to take the ship." Amid the angry murmur from the crew, I nodded, adding that piece to the puzzle. Grapeshot, small pellets of lead loaded into a cannon in place of a cannonball, produces a spray of metal that will kill anyone caught in it and tear a ship's sails while leaving the ship herself mostly intact. It is a weapon of choice when one intends to take an enemy craft for one's own.

"Mebbe that gives us an option," Clog suggested. "I know it ain't gonna be a favorite idea, but may'aps we put ashore, give him the ship and go on our way."

"Dumbass!" Swinging down on her lifeline, Gizmit slapped the dwarf upside the back of his head, which he appeared not to notice. "It's like you've never run a con in your life. Silvergrin's risking _big_ with this. If we can prove he's a traitor to the fleet before he can prove we are, it's the gallows for him and all of his crew. He _can't _leave us running around alive. No witnesses."

"More likely only his captains and a few officers," Turf mused. "There's no way he could convince three ships worth of Blackwater sailors to turn on one of the fleet. We must assume he's stacked his command crew with those loyal only to him, though. Or to whatever he can bribe them with."

I nodded. Silvergrin's officers did, indeed, have that reputation.

"Which brings us right back to the central question," Raleigh said. "What does he _want?_ He's taking an awful risk doing this. It will cost him everything if it doesn't work. I mean, the _Quarrel _has a great record, but that's as much do to Captain Dawncrest's cleverness as anything. What could possibly be on this ship that's worth trying this scheme?"

"I don't know," I said, "but that does tell me what to do next. Silvergrin obviously knows a number of things we don't. The fact that he knows who I am lights the way to where we can get answers. The only person alive who I've told is Captain Eshani."

Lanki abruptly unfolded himself to his full height. "Eshani wouldn't turn on ya dat way."

"Not voluntarily," I agreed. Eshani, a Darkspear troll, had been our previous captain. It was from her that I'd learned everything I knew about sailing. "But people can be compelled, or tricked. It seems obvious that he got to her at some point, in some way. She'll be able to tell us what happened."

"If she be still alive," the witchdoctor growled. "So far, da Commodore seem to be a little trigger-happy wit' him witnesses."

I nodded grimly, aware that my face matched the scowls on the rest of the crew. Eshani had retired a year before to rejoin her clan on the Echo Isles. She was popular among the crew; if Silvergrin had harmed her...

I rubbed at my forehead, trying to collect my thoughts. The hunger was growing more insistent; stress always worsened it. "Right. We're not provisioned for this kind of trip, so we need to stop for supplies. Turf?"

"We're heading north, as you ordered, Captain," he replied. "Pursuers are out of sight behind us. The _Dragonhawk _at least could have stayed in range this long, so Silvergrin must be trying not to break up his fleet."

"Very good. We can fish if our food runs low, and where we're going there should be opportunity to fill the rain barrels. If worse comes to worst, we can break out the desalinizer." This brought a chorus of groans, which prompted an offended _harrumph _from the Professor. The invention in question was capable of rendering seawater into a drinkable form. The resulting fluid tasted like copper and mold, but it would stave off dehydration. "Turf, keep us well away from the shipping lanes. We have to assume that Silvergrin laid some groundwork before springing his trap; any other Blackwater ships may regard us as traitors and attack on sight."

"Goblins," Gouge growled. "Tricksome, backstabbing little...ah, no offense, Gizmit."

She tilted her head, bat-like ears flopping. "No offense about what?"

"For now, we head for Ratchet. Not directly to the port itself; it's probably not safe for us. We'll put the _Quarrel _in at Northwatch Hold. Theramore forces aren't likely to turn on us no matter what rumors Silvergrin has been spreading. We'll trade for supplies there, while a few of us get into Ratchet on foot to find out exactly what the story is. Once we know more and have our stores replenished, we'll make for Durotar and try to find Eshani. The Light send she's still at her village where we left her, and safe."

I panned my gaze across the crew; the uncertainty in their gazes had been replaced by determination. My father always said that the sight of a leader calm and in control could hold people steady through the worst of circumstances. And a good thing, too; I needed to get below before I collapsed and undid all my hard work. "Very well. I'll be in my cabin for a few minutes. Dismissed."

I made it as far as the door before the Professor ambushed me.

"Captain! Shall I assume you'll be one of those going into Ratchet for information?"

I sighed, hand on the latch. I did not have the strength for this...but brushing him off would lead to more problems than it averted. "Of course, Professor. If you'll excuse me..."

"Then you'll be walking into considerable danger! You'll be needing my very latest invention!" Puffed up with pride, he held up in both hands what was obviously some sort of gun, though more than that I could not tell. It had a round, bulky apparatus just above the trigger. "Actually, I didn't invent the idea, but this design is a Dimmerswitch original, based on similar devices I've seen in Ironforge. This is much improved over your caplock pistols! It holds five bullets at a time; you cock the hammer to spin the magazine and load the next shot. Five shots before you have to reload!"

I peered at the weapon, not reaching to take it. "Hm. If you've got a moving part connected to the barrel...that would have to be very tightly assembled to contain the explosive powder properly."

"Well, of course. It is precision engineered to the most exacting specifications."

I stared him down. "Precision engineered at your cramped, ill-lit little workstation down in the hull, where the pitching of the deck forces you to keep all your tools bolted down?"

His eager expression fell slightly. "Ah...yes, well...I mean, that is to say—"

"Get that damn thing away from me."

I shut the door in his spluttering face.

Making it to my cabin, I slammed the door shut and crossed on unsteady legs to my trunk. Flinging it open and tossing aside folded clothes with nothing like my usual neatness, I snatched up what I sought: a large earthenware bottle with a tightly screwed lid. By its weight, still mostly full, thank the Light for small favors. With trembling fingers, I managed to unscrew the cap, and tipped its contents down my throat.

I barely noticed the clean, herbal flavor of the mana potion. Magic blossomed in me, quelling the hunger that had crept up over the last half hour. Finally...

Never having had any aptitude for magic, I had nearly succumbed to the strange illness brought on by its absence before Lanki figured out what was happening, and began to keep me supplied with alchemic mana potions. As far as we knew, it was the result of my being so far from Quel'thalas, where magic was so much a part of the land itself that it governed the weather and accelerated the evolution of wildlife into forms that existed nowhere else. Yet, I'd never heard of elven travelers falling ill so quickly, at least not before the sack of Silvermoon by the Undead Scourge.

I had no answers. It had been year after my escape from Quel'thalas before I knew for a fact I wasn't the last living elf. Even still, I had avoided their company. My new life was all I needed, and the old held nothing but regrets. The potions worked to stave off the sickness. That was all that mattered.

I started violently when large hands took my by the shoulders from behind.

"Easy, dere," Lanki said. "You don' need more jumpin' around on top a' you problems."

"Lanki! What the blazes are you—get out!"

"Sure t'ing, Captain," he said calmly, forcibly turning me to face him. "Soon as I sure you okay."

"I'm fine. You know how stress brings it on. Now I'm ordering you—"

"Yeah, da's great an' all, boss lady, but when it come to ya health, da ship surgeon outrank you an' da Baron himself. Now hol' still. I seen how you was shakin' out dere. You ain't lost ya composure dat bad in years. Still, I say!"

I held myself rigid, keeping the bottle upright as I screwed the cap back in place. Lanki felt my forehead, pried an eyelid open to peer within, and even smelled my breath. Submitting to this with the best grace I could muster, I reminded myself that he knew what he was about, and that his efforts had kept me alive and sane in spite of the odds.

Finally, he nodded, stepping back. "You be fine. But I expect ya to get plenty sleep before we hit port again, understand? And you not gonna give ya food to da crew either, no matter how tight da stores be. Crew don' gotta keep dey strength up da way you do. I brew you up some mo' a' dat, but we gonna have to get herbs in port. I runnin' low."

"Will there be anything else?" I asked stiffly.

"Yeah, one t'ing." With a sudden smile, he reached out to pat me on the shoulder. "We gonna be fine. Remember, you da Captain. You smarter dan Silvergrin, and now you got betta motivation. Don' let da hard times get to ya."

With a final grin, he turned and ambled out, shutting the door gently behind him.

I stood in my cabin a few minutes longer, turning the bottle of potion over in my hands. Presently, I would need to return to the deck. Not that the crew couldn't handle everything just fine, but they needed to see me there. Calm, collected, and in control, reassuring them we'd pull through this. But for a few minutes longer, I stayed shut in my cabin, gathering my strength.

It would be sorely needed.


End file.
